the journey of the
Genie
Tuesday, May the Twenty-Fifth
We arrived in Turkey, and were presented with
lavish quarters bedecked in rich oriental rugs and
luxurious sofa pillows. I am particularly fond of
the oriental lamps, and rub each one I come in
contact with... just in case a genie should pop out.
One never knows, does one?
Mrs. Bamfield and I are assigned to share a tent
together, which will be great fun. She says Missus
Mister has seen the famed Genie of Abdullah
Al-Khāfid before! It is the only Genie in captivity
known to exist! Perhaps we three might compare
our thoughts once we see the marvel!
Thursday, May the Twenty-Seventh
Each member of the monster hunting tour was
left with a few hours to spare before the showing
of the Genie.
Brunhilde Bamfield and I immediately
set out for the local market, and were rather
enthusiastically welcomed!
Though some may have thought me a bit
daft, I rubbed every single lamp I could find
hoping to discover a genie of my own! The ones
that the street vendors directed me to were far
too shiny to house a Djinn, yet I rubbed them
all the same.
Mrs. Bamfield appeared to be searching for
something quite specific, but when I asked, she
sounded evasive.
“Oh, look,” she said, distracting me. “There is
Mr. Longville. Perhaps he would act as a porter
for our purchases? We intend to purchase many
souvenirs!”
Mr. Longville -- or should I say Monsieur, the
poor dear, having to bear a French ancestry -- did
not want to leave women unattended, and began
to hover about me as if we were quite attached. Of
course, there is nothing like that between Percy
-- I mean Mr. Longville -- and myself. He is not
at all the kind of man with whom I could permit
an entanglement. I stood well apart.
I passed a table with a very ancient, battered
lamp and could not resist giving it a quick rub—
though, of course, I knew nothing would happen.
“And how many lamps have you polished along
the way?” he asked.
“You will not tease me,” I replied, returning his
smile. “When I gain possession of three magical
wishes, and you do not.”
“No, no, beautiful lady!” cried a merchant. He
was apparently locked in heated argument with
Brunhilde. “It cannot be that you want such a
thing!”
“But I do,” Mrs. Bamfield said, firmly. “Price is
no object.”
This seemed to have eased the poor man’s
conscience, and he led her away into an alley